Part 21

Gato grew graver with age, and abandoned many amusements in which he had at one time taken delight. It seemed to his guardian that there was a steady development of his intellect, which showed itself in everything he did. It would be too much to say that he was capable of thinking about his own thoughts, but who shall decide that he was not? With consciousness, memory, and a strong sense of personal identity; filled with innate tendencies, through the medium of which he interpreted external impressions; prone to contemplations that, as his eye and changing attitudes indicated, were not vague, apathetic dreams, no one can know that he did not revive mental states and meditate on centrically initiated ideas.

Personally, and so far as mere individual opinion unsupported by proof goes, the conviction in his friend’s mind is that he did. Often, as with all cats, his brain was torpid. Unconscious cerebration, no doubt, went on, but only dim, transient images floated into the field of consciousness, and fragmentary, isolated, shadow-like pictures of outward things were presented to the “mind’s eye.” It was plain enough when he was in this semi-somnolent condition, and the difference between it and the active exercise of faculty upon something within himself, was unmistakable. He thought, but how, and about what? In his realm of that ideal world so little of which has been explored by man, subjective processes transpired such as we have no clue to and no measure for. The contents of mind, however, must be derivations from experience in a wild beast as much as in a human being. What he had observed, seen, felt, and remembered in that form which his own organization conferred, were manifested characteristically: that is to say, when vivid imaginations excited, or external sense-notices aroused him, the beast of prey awoke at once. The same most likely, or rather, most certainly, must have been true of all mental conditions, but while the animal remained impassive, the fact was indiscernible. When this savage warrior lay before his companion’s arm-chair, and looked straight in his eyes with fixed intensity, calling to mind, perhaps, the things he knew about this man, it was natural that recollections of trainers’ confidences, accounts given by travellers and hunters, one’s own experiences, the many superstitions of civilized and savage peoples, should suggest ideas which had a tendency to color and distort observation upon the part of his vis-à-vis.

No one, however, who was not under the influence of a fixed prejudice, could have looked into Gato’s unfaltering orbs and seen there any confirmation of the common belief that brutes such as he are only restrained by fear; or that they have an instinctive sense of reverence and awe in the presence of human beings. All the respect this one felt for his guardian he learned. Besides that, he had superstitions concerning him. In maturity his great size, and reports of the wisdom he had attained to, made the animal famous, so that many persons desired to see him--that is, through the grating at his door. But strangers found no favor with this misanthropist, and he disliked being stared at. Thus, after regarding such intruders with a stern countenance, and taking no notice of his friend under these degrading circumstances, he affected to be unconscious that anybody was there, or else deliberately turned his back upon the visitors. For a time it was supposed that this mark of contempt occurred accidentally. Gato could have had no conception of the significance of this act as it is understood in civilized society, but he did it for reasons of his own, and at length quite evidently on purpose.

As was said, curiosity, which is always indicative of mental development, was an unusually prominent trait in his character. There were numbers of things to which he paid no attention, but when an act attracted his notice and was constantly performed, it appeared to require investigation, and he applied himself to the subject in a manner quite different from that superior air with which ordinary matters were regarded. Books amazed Gato. Nothing could be made out with regard to them by means of scent or sight: they were dead apparently, and not fit to eat. What was in them that never came out? Why should they be watched so closely? This question he never found any satisfactory answer to, and one might see that it often perplexed him. When he was little, reading made him jealous, and he put his paws on the page and invited his friend to play. This mysterious occupation lost its novelty in time, and the desire to romp passed away, but frequently in after days when he observed his companion turn towards the bookcase and get up, he escorted him to the shelves, scrutinized the way in which he looked for a volume, or turned over the leaves of several, and went back to see if anything was at last coming to light about this strange and constant occupation.

Gato resolutely refused to learn English. Why he preferred Spanish, no one knows, but he did, and would only respond to communications made in that tongue. Habit and association had much to do with this, no doubt, but there is reason to think that a distaste for our vernacular was one of the many prejudices which, in a measure, detracted from those qualities which embellished his character. His guardian discoursed to him at length; taught him to do and leave undone numerous things, but had to use the only idiom his pupil chose to acquire any knowledge of. If he were called in English, the perverse creature would not come. He stood and stared like an obstinate child. More than this, if he understood, as no doubt he sometimes did, and even wanted to do what was commanded, but could not, because he had made up his mind never to do anything unless spoken to properly, he got angry. There is no doubt in the writer’s mind that this is a fact, and that the prejudice referred to existed. Force might have been resorted to, of course, but that would have had the effect of deforming his nature after every effort had been made to leave it to its natural expansion, except in so far as its tendencies were prevented from expressing themselves in homicidal acts.

Langworthy, “the lion-tamer,” as the posters called him, used to say that feline beasts, after coming to know one, were infallible physiognomists, but that they had to learn a face before being able to understand its expressions; also that they only read the signs of anger and fear, and never looked for anything else, not caring about approval or kindness, because all the great cats were destitute of affection. Lions, tigers, leopards, and the rest, he believed, scrutinized the countenance chiefly to see if a man were afraid. If so, no assumed look could conceal the fact, and they instantly became dangerous. Privately he scouted the idea that there was any power to overawe animals in one person rather than another, and held that the sole difference between men in this respect depended upon quickness of observation, and especially upon fearlessness.

In the main this squares with what is known of comparative psychology, and of the Felidæ in particular. But like most sweeping assertions upon beasts or men, it is not wholly accurate. Many animals are exceedingly vain, nearly or possibly quite as much so as savage men, and vainer they could not be. Now this trait is inseparable from a desire for praise, and although it is no more necessary to feel any respect or affection for the persons who gratify this longing, than it is to love people because they are able to excite jealousy, creatures with such a disposition will always solicit approbation, and be pleased when it is accorded. Certainly this was the case with Gato, who was fond of display, and delighted in being noticed and admired; who did many things for the express purpose of being praised, and claimed commendation as plainly as if he had been able to speak.

The faces of brutes, similarly with those of human races which differ greatly in appearance from the observer, at first all look alike. But afterwards one begins to discriminate, and finally distinguishes differences between them, and changes in the same individual at different times. While Gato lay by the fountain listening to the wind murmur through the great tamarind boughs that shaded him, heard the water fall, saw the fleecy trade-wind clouds sail slowly overhead, and was evidently neither asleep nor lethargic, but keenly observant of every sight and sound, how easy would it have been to fit his reflections to the scene; “to opine probably and prettily,” as Bacon expresses it, and provide the chained savage with poetic resignation, or indignant sorrow, to make him feel and think in forms as far from reality as the vapors that floated above him were far from being the substantial masses they seemed. Such writings, eloquent and interesting as they often are, do a positive disservice to science. Think, he did: that was to be seen in the eye that softened or grew stern; in its far-away or introverted expression, or quick scrutinizing glance; in the smoothed or corrugated brow, the quivering, contracted, or placid lips; in attitudes indefinably expressive, and variations of his ensemble that cannot be described.

How should human insight penetrate this underworld of the intellect? All things definite there were transmigrations of his own experiences under the stress of heredity. What was emotional, unformed, and yet operative, was the bequest of a wild and free ancestry that sent down their tendencies and traits, gave him his organization, and, with a certainty as inevitable as death, stamped everything that he could think or feel with their “own form and impress.” His ideas were reproductions; his emotions rose into consciousness from unknown depths. The latter set him upon the verge of what his predecessors realized, vaguely revealed their past, prompted those unrecognizable half-memories that are born with every being, prepared him for possibilities from which captivity cut him off, stirred his heart, and made life and the earth all that they were or could be to him.

Varying phases of mind as outwardly evinced, manifested themselves clearly in Gato’s behavior and in his changes of temper. Those serene meditations which had sway during beautiful days, and in the calm of tropical nights, bore little likeness to states of tension that sometimes possessed him when the storms of the rainy season set in. If an African lion is to be seen in his glory, he must be looked at by the lightning’s glare. It is amid tempest and gloom that the full proportions of his nature come forth. So with this lion of another world. Many a time in the course of those nightly interviews which have been referred to, he roused himself from an intense contemplation of his companion, disturbed by thunder and the tumult without. Then while the wind blew unequally, roared through swaying branches, or mourned around the walls that shut him in, he quickened under the influence of over-tones in nature which human beings cannot hear. Storm and darkness wrought upon him as they will not do upon man. Beyond what was visible or audible, there was something that came from within himself; something that wove “the waste fantasies” of his dreams together, and gave character and purpose to ideation. He showed it in profoundly suggestive pantomime. But what “air-drawn” shapes were followed with those long, swift, soft yet heavy steps, on what his eyes were fixed, what feelings and fancies engrossed and transfigured him, gave that fierce energy, and led him in their train, are unknowable. They had no voice, but only with mute motions pointed backward to a past in which humanity shared no part, and which it cannot explore.

Those who have reared beasts of prey, must, it is probable, read works that describe the expression of their emotions with a certain dissatisfaction. Not for the reason that their authors lacked power, the art of observation, or scientific attainments, but merely because they themselves have seen and felt the influence of so much that is too evasive for definite detail. The grander passions may be painted; in virtue of the unstable equilibrium of nervous elements, and that comparatively imperfect system of connections existing between the centres, they are always explosive. But a world of complex, kaleidoscopic views interpose between fury and tranquility. Feeling cannot be continually intense, nor need it necessarily remain unexpressed because it is not violent. Only those emotions which are for the time absorbing have an unmistakable physiognomy, and these both brutes and higher beings feel but rarely. In attempting anything more than a suggestion of the impression produced by current feeling, the observer is liable to become constructive; to picture himself instead of the model, or to lose the subject in the midst of anatomical, physiological, and psychological details.

Unprovoked dislike, antipathy, permanent and constant in special directions, together with antithetical feelings, which are also said to be spontaneous, Gato possessed in abundance. He gave up trying to kill the Apostle John, but liked him no better than did those heathens who boiled the saint in oil. Whether on account of an animosity he had towards all men, or because in his own fashion he became superstitious about the statue, this much is certain, that if dragged up to it, he took offence. On the other hand, Gato made friends with a horse. Every morning when his groom let him out, Said trotted to the rear of the house, put his head over the half-door looking into the court-yard, and asked for a little wine and sugar with a gentle whinny. Sometimes Gato was chained to one of the buttresses of a tamarind and saw him. Often Said walked in on the stone floor and found him loose, as was customary while his guardian remained at home. At first, when actually confronted, the Arab showed a good deal of uneasiness. But the puma was then only half-grown, and upon being reassured, the horse concluded that it was all right, and paid no further attention to him. So this singular compact of neutrality was begun. On Said’s part, it never became anything else. He suffered Gato when a mature and very large animal to walk around him, without any special recognition of his presence, and that was all. On the other hand, the latter respected, or admired, or had some kind of a friendly feeling towards the horse.

In order that he might not remain in that benighted state in which his forefathers lived among wretched Olmecs, Chichemecs, and Otomies whom the Aztecs captured to sacrifice to their war god, it was deemed proper to instruct him in the use and effects of firearms. He approved of cartridges as playthings, and watched them put into the cylinder, but did not think for some time that they were the things that went off and made a noise and flash. When he saw a ball strike, he used to leap at the scar and look for fragments scattered by the shot. Finally, by dint of seeing ammunition exploded, and snuffing empty arms, Gato got some inkling that there was a connection between a pistol he saw charged, and certain effects. Still it is very doubtful whether in his opinion a loaded revolver was dangerous, until experience convinced him that it would kill. In other words, he was taught that which unreclaimed wild beasts find out for themselves everywhere on the face of the earth.

What finished his education in this way, was an incident that very nearly proved disastrous to himself. One summer morning while he was fastened in the court-yard, and his guardian sat reading in his sala, a large rabid dog dashed into the room from the street, and without noticing the motionless figure in a chair, rushed out by an opposite door towards the puma, who lay under a tree. Instant aid was necessary to prevent the latter from being bitten; for although at that time he would have torn the dog to pieces, as he had already done in the case of two or three others, this would not have saved him. He witnessed the whole affair; saw the revolver, the aim and flash, heard the report, beheld the dog fall, struggle a moment, and die. Afterwards its body was dragged nearer to him, so he could feel assured that life was gone. Then for the first time did a realizing sense of the potency of this instrument enter into his mind. Subsequent to this occurrence, it was for a while only necessary to wear a pistol to keep Gato at a distance. Once in an unlucky hour his guardian told a servant to aim one at him by way of experiment, and nothing but the promptest and most determined interference saved the man. Charles Darwin (“Expression of the Emotions,” etc.) says that the physiognomy of fear among cats is difficult to describe because it passes so quickly into that of rage. In this case the transition was instantaneous, and a fine fury it was.

The blare of cavalry trumpets, the roll of drums, and clang of bells, attracted Gato’s attention and made him restless, but he was not “moved by concourse of sweet sounds.” They possessed no meaning, and did not cause him to think or feel. To sing to him was a waste of time, and he looked upon a guitar as something that made an insignificant noise. If the strings were roughly and unexpectedly vibrated, the effect resembled any other sudden interruption of meditation or slumber. He was startled, and apprehension instantly took the form of anger, and then passed quickly when he saw what had disturbed his repose. All physiologists will agree with Spencer that “the existing quantity of nerve force liberated at any moment which produces in some inscrutible way the state we call feeling, must expend itself in some direction, must generate an equivalent manifestation of force somewhere.” The feeling excited, whatever it may be, will flow in accustomed channels, and manifest itself in what Darwin describes as “habitually associated movements.” This law, and that governing antithetical manifestations, is founded in the physical and mental organization of all creatures, and its expressions vary with the differences obtaining among those of different kinds.

Gato and the members of every species belonging to his family are primarily avatars of force. They inherit as predominant traits those feelings and faculties, those physical specializations and particular aptitudes, which tend to make violence successful. When any nervous shock let loose his energy, it flowed from the centres where it was stored through the most permeable tracts; those which had been most frequently traversed in the history of the individual and his race; and as this process was necessarily accompanied by corresponding movements, when the strings of a guitar aroused him suddenly, Gato involuntarily assumed the attitudes and exhibited the temper of an excited beast of prey. If startled, teased, or menaced, if impatient, angry, or even pleased, however different may have been the passing feeling, however variously it was expressed, his character always overshadowed him, and gave an air to every outward act; not always in those set forms which Camper, Le Brun, Bell, and Darwin set forth, but unmistakably, and, of course, by the same means through which the typical representations of passion take place.

That sedateness and inertia which, in Felidæ especially, soon supervene upon the restlessness of kittenhood, showed themselves in Gato at an earlier period than usual. This was in a great degree attributable to his rapid and enormous growth. The energy which under ordinary physiological conditions would have remained free to manifest itself in movement, was expended in building his frame.

Many times on looking up and meeting Gato’s gaze as he lay upon a rug contemplating his friend, the expression of those fiery eyes suggested stories of fascination--Arab legends, African and Hindu superstitions about the mesmeric power possessed by tigers and lions. A good deal has been written on this subject which is not much to the purpose. But no one has shown, or can show, that this influence is impossible, or, as it suggested itself to the author in the course of some experiments upon his puma, that susceptible subjects might not, as in cases reported by Charcot and others, hypnotize themselves. Having no way of getting at the relations subsisting between the centres of his brain with any certainty, it occurred to his guardian that a physiological approximation to their state might be made by means of this kind of an impression, and that it would reveal, to a certain extent at least, what is called by French writers the “solidarity” of that organ. The difficulty lay in the first necessary step, according to Heidenhain; namely, in arresting attention. Czermak’s experiments at Leipzig were made upon creatures of a very different character from Gato. By all accounts, hypnotism is impossible except when attentiveness approaches to a wrapped degree of fixedness. The author tried to act upon his puma, but in vain. A bright object placed above him in front might or might not excite special curiosity. If his keeper held it, he looked at him, and probably wondered what new deviltry he was after then.

Often he grew uneasy, or disgusted perhaps, got up, and lay down with his head averted, or closed his lids. Sometimes he walked away, pretending not to notice his companion, though keenly observant of what he was doing all the while. But this eye-to-eye interview was quite as likely to bring the animal close, make him rub against his comrade, or present his head to be stroked. Whatever he did, however, was done of his own accord, and had no reference to the performances of his associate, or to the willpower exerted and wasted on such occasions.

It was easy to see when Gato was apathetic, and plain enough when he was intoxicated with what Willis and the old anatomists called “animal spirits.” In the mean between these extremes lay the mystery. Who was to decide when the panther patted you gently with his sheathed paw, or put his head before the book, whether these solicitations to take notice of him had their root in a need for sympathy, or were signs of a desire to enjoy some pleasant sensation, such as being scratched or played with? One could only guess at this from the clue given by a knowledge of his character.

Much uncertainty exists with regard to the degree in which his æsthetic sense was developed. Whoever has shown pictures to children and savages, knows the great uncertainty attending their recognition of things which are familiar to them. The puma liked glaring colors and bright objects, yet while capable of identifying a large statue, the preference he exhibited for certain paintings depended most probably on their florid style. If his guardian read a work illustrated with engravings while he looked over his shoulder, they made no perceptible impression upon him. He admired gorgeous parrots that cursed him, and for a long time made hostile demonstrations towards a raven who was too wise not to let him alone. Some of the great hunters have thought that those strong predilections exhibited by tigers for certain beautiful localities which otherwise had nothing to recommend them to the choice of such inmates, were evidence of appreciation upon their part of this advantage.

That conclusion is, however, a very uncertain one, and most likely comes under the head of those observations that Czermak designates as “events viewed unequally”; that is to say, the facts are true, but the inference unwarranted. Gato had not much opportunity of studying nature. When, as happened several times during early life, he was taken into wild and solitary places, his attention concentrated itself upon living things. Beside those he seemed to care for nothing, except, perhaps, to be perverse. He climbed trees and would not come down, hid, and pretended not to hear when he was called. Once, improbable as it seems, he lost himself, and when all hope of recovering him appeared to be gone, here came the little wretch, in a very bad temper, nosing out his friend’s trail, and convinced that he had been tormenting him, and done the whole thing on purpose.

It is time to close these memorabilia. Such facts as the records of his life contribute towards the ways of wild beasts, and illustrating their habits and character, have been now brought forward. A book might be written about his adventures and the traits he displayed, yet most of what was most interesting in his character lies on the border land of actual observation, and cannot be distinctly stated.

The manner in which Gato departed this life was worthy of himself, and may be taken as the last proof of his unchanged savagery of spirit. He had never come into actual conflict with a man, not because of unwillingness, but in consequence of the restraint imposed by confinement, bonds, or his guardian’s presence. On the evening of his death he was fastened by the fountain; when, as it is said, for unhappily the writer was absent, a strange dog appeared, whom he sprang at, breaking his chain close to the collar, and killed. Afterwards he climbed a tree, and while the servants shut themselves up in their apartments, stretched himself out on a limb, and looked down upon the mangled remains of his victim. No doubt the ferocious feelings of his nature were all aroused, and unfortunately just at that time a man rode through the stone passage that in this country serves as a front door. Then the puma came down and flew at him, springing on to the croup of his horse, and wounding, though slightly, both it and its rider. The man being a nervous person, lost his head entirely, and not satisfied with making himself safe in a room whose door was opened to him, must needs fire out of the window with a carbine he found in the apartment. Some people become demented at the sight of their own blood, and this was one of them. He held straight, however, and the ball shattered the animal’s right shoulder and passed backwards into his body. Gato had got between two great roots of the tree when his friend arrived, and that saved him from another shot. The creature was desperate, but too intelligent not to know that he who approached had no part in what he suffered. It was a mortal wound, but death promised to be delayed till that splendid frame was wasted by morbid processes and his life was gasped out in agony. This was not to be endured. The hand of affection did him the last good office, and he died instantly.

Pumas do not charge men in masses. Their victims are chosen among those creatures they find alone. Individuals have sometimes been assailed by more than one. Im Thurn asserts that the “Warracaba tigers” of Guiana, who hunt in families, are pumas. Two persons occasionally appear in authentic records as having been assaulted. Mostly, however, the incidents of any serious adventure of this kind are only known to a single individual, and whether they are ever recounted depends almost entirely upon the way in which the attack is made. A hunter taken by surprise would generally lose his life. This animal is not difficult to kill, and the facility with which it may be disposed of is another reason for disparaging its prowess among the class who most commonly encounter it.

A source of misunderstanding is also found in the special habits of this animal. Those of the Felidæ about which some more or less vague information is most generally diffused, do not climb. The puma is particularly given to doing so wherever forest lands are found within the range of its distribution. Quite as frequently as the Asiatic and African leopard, and more commonly than a jaguar, this beast resorts to trees when pursued. Its reasons for doing so cannot be doubted: it feels at home among the boughs; observation has taught the animal that none of those natural enemies it need avoid can follow. If dogs are on its track, it is well aware that, owing to their superior speed, they are certain to come up with it, and that in taking to the limbs above, its scent will be lost. For this habit but one reason has been commonly assigned; namely, that the puma is a poltroon.

In G. O. Shields’ compilation of monographs upon “The Large Game of North America,” he publishes some narratives that throw light upon the cougar’s character. Revenge is not a very powerful or persistent passion in the Felidæ, but cruelty is. Injuries are soon forgotten, and nobody ever knew a lion or tiger to act in this regard like an elephant. The feline beast never forgets, however, or becomes indifferent to the joy of torture. That is why it is fatal to fear it. The sight of this kind of suffering excites all their fell tendencies. Accidents with these animals are not results of abiding hate and premeditated vengeance, but very often of sudden impulse excited by the sight of apprehension. Deep, concentrated, persistent feeling is beyond the Felidæ. This is why Dio Cassius’ story of Androcles and his lion is untrue; quite as much a romance of the affections as Balzac’s “Passion du Désert.” Gérard’s touching account of his reunion with Hubert at the Jardin des Plantes fails, in his version of the animal’s feelings, for the same reason--because it is impossible. No doubt the lion he had reared was glad to see him, but that is not what is conveyed. The picture presented is too like that drawn by Homer of the behavior of Ulysses’ dog, when his “far-travelled” master came back, an unrecognized stranger, to Ithaca. No wild beast of the cat kind ever sat for that portrait.

Shields and others inform us that on several occasions “panthers” have been known to accompany women and children for some distance, and play with them, caper about their paths, and pull at their clothes, without doing further harm than was produced by fright. That these creatures act under the influence of playful moods is certain, but that a wild beast should come out of the woods and in pure lightness of heart invite a perfect stranger to romp, appears to be improbable.